


Not Unwelcome

by Fragged



Series: Submission [2]
Category: Stargate Universe
Genre: D/s, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Submissive Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-06 06:11:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4211052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fragged/pseuds/Fragged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tonight, he's going to give Young what he needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Unwelcome

The entire ship shakes with the impact of the enemy fire. Fuck. 

“The shields aren't holding!” Eli yells, and Rush glances over his shoulder to see his face scared and bloodless, skin pale and lips thin. 

“How much longer?” Young says into his radio. The team is still on the planet, and leaving them behind right now will likely mean their deaths. Then again, staying here for much longer will result in the ship exploding, and it's a calculation that doesn't take Rush long to make. 

_“Ten minutes!”_ Brody's voice sounds stressed even through the staticky connection of the radio. 

“We have to jump, Colonel,” Rush says over the sound of another impact. A spray of sparks rains over the bridge, and Jesus, they really can't afford this kind of damage over Young's indecision. 

“I'm not leaving them behind to be picked off like flies, Rush!” Young looks angry and fierce, and Rush can't help but admire the man for his tenacity. He's wrong, of course, but he stays true to his morals even in the face of imminent destruction. 

“Wait,” Scott says. “They're only focusing on our starboard. None of their fire is aimed at the left side of the ship.” 

“Why?” Eli asks, and Rush agrees that it's an interesting question, but Young responds before he can make any comment. 

“Drop the shield on our port then, and double the shields on starboard!” Young orders. 

Eli's fingers fly over his console. 

“We're dead if they hit us on a part without shields!” Rush argues. 

“But we'll make it if they don't,” Young says, and there's a type of calm in his eyes that makes Rush want to believe, that makes him want to put all of his trust in the man, even though he knows Young is just guessing here. 

“You're putting the entire ship at risk for five people!” he protests, just as Brody reports through the radio: _“They're almost at the gate! Five more minutes!”_

The bombardment of enemy fire continues, and Rush watches on his screen with something close to exultation as the aliens continue to focus their efforts on destroying the right side of the ship. Fuck, they're going to make it. 

“Shields on starboard are holding!” Eli says, and the happy rush of early celebration is palpable in the room. 

_“They're here!”_ Brody says. _“Gate is closed!”_

“Jump!” Young orders, and Rush's fingers race over the buttons on his console and within the second the ship creaks and reality shifts sideways as they jump back into FTL. 

Rush lets out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. 

“Good job, everyone,” Young says, as Scott and Eli exchange a joyful high-five. 

The entire bridge is atwitter with the sounds of people happy to be alive, happy to have survived another close call, and Rush feels something flutter high under his breastbone. Fuck, he wants to kiss Young right now. 

Young gives him a look, and it's relieved and slightly admonishing, but Rush can see the tension underneath it – the knowledge that if he'd made the wrong call just now everyone would be dead – and Rush wants... he wants to wipe that look away. 

“Damage report,” Young says, back to business as usual, and Eli and Scott turn to their consoles and start listing the damage and repairs that will need to be made. They've had worse, and Rush only keeps half an ear on the conversation. 

Tonight, he's going to give Young what he needs. 

\- 

“Rush,” Young greets him, when he saunters into Young's room unannounced and uninvited. 

Young is behind his desk, glasses perched low on his nose, and Rush thinks it's quite a marvel how the man can look both so unassuming and so powerful at the same time. 

He flicks the lock on the door, and wanders over to the desk. 

“Colonel.” 

Young is already up, glasses deposited on the desk, to pull him in for a kiss. His hands are everywhere, in his hair and on his shoulders and on his lower back, pulling him closer by his arse cheeks. 

Rush allows it for a minute or two, because it's good, and because he loves it when Young gets needy like this – groping and biting and moaning low sounds into his mouth. 

They've had sex, since that first time, but they haven't done... they haven't done what they did that first time, when Young left himself completely at Rush's mercy. They haven't done that since, and it's been nearly five weeks now. Mostly, it's been blowjobs and handjobs and a few things that were a little bit of both, or neither. One time Young fucked him, slow and gentle, face-to-face, like lovers. It had seemed to ease something between them, and Rush can't deny that he enjoyed it. But tonight calls for something else. 

He draws back, away from the kiss, and puts his hands on Young's face. 

“Take off your jacket.” 

Young stills and gives him a calculating look, but he doesn't say anything as Rush lets his hands drop from his face and steps back. Rush watches him unzip his jacket and shrug it off. Watches it fall to the floor. 

“Shirt,” he says. 

Young eyes him again, a little more uncertain now, but he strips off his shirt without comment. His chest is still a sight to behold, sturdy and wide and so fucking strong. Rush lets his eyes roam over the expanse of skin appreciatively as he circles Young, who's standing motionless and with stiff shoulders. 

“Boots and socks,” he orders, and Young hesitates for a second or two before he bends down to open the laces and pulls off his boots and socks. His clothes are in a haphazard pile around him now, and Rush can't help but think he looks good like this, naked torso and bare feet juxtaposing the sturdy, well-fitting uniform trousers that hide most of his arousal. He looks vulnerable but strong. Exposed but protected. 

It's... It's a good look, but he wants to see Young stripped tonight. He wants to peel away the armor and explore the soft, raw parts that are hidden underneath. 

“Take off your trousers,” Rush says, jiggling the buckle of Young's belt between his fingers playfully before dropping his hand and taking his distance again. Young sends him a look that is almost pleading, but then his frown overtakes it and he opens his belt. Rush feels his own cock thicken at the sight of Young's erection tenting his boxers. 

“Hm,” Rush says, letting a finger run over the waistband of Young's underwear, careful not to touch any skin. “These might get in the way. Get rid of them.” 

“Rush,” Young says, and his voice is raspy and full of gravel. Rush cocks his head at him, interested to see what Young is about to say. Is this too far? Is this where Young will draw the line? 

“Are you doing this because I didn't listen to you this afternoon?” Young asks, and Jesus. 

Is that what Young thinks? That he's exerting his control over Young like this because Young didn't follow his advice during the attack? It's... Christ, of course he sometimes thinks that it would be easier if Young just listened to him without question all the time, but Rush has spent enough time contemplating his history with Young to realize that more often than not Young's unwillingness to listen to him results in better outcomes overall. Young is either more adept at estimating their chances of survival – something Rush highly doubts – or Rush himself is too willing to sacrifice people before it's absolutely necessary. Both options are somewhat infuriating, but Rush is leaning towards the latter at the moment. 

For some reason Young's regard for the sanctity of life has actually become one of the things Rush appreciates most about him. He sure prefers the idea of his own life being worth the risk for Young over the thought that Young would leave him to die at the drop of a hat. 

Again. 

He resists going down that path and steers his thoughts in another direction, because this train of thought is not helpful, and it's not entirely fair. They've both done each other a lot of hurt, but they've also both put their past deeds behind them. Circumstances change, and perhaps even people do, and right now he knows with every fiber of his being that Young would never abandon him. Not without a huge fucking fight. And he appreciates that, that sense of safety. Because he remembers how much harder life was without it. 

So, no. This is not about establishing his dominance over Young because he's upset that Young didn't listen to him this afternoon. Fuck, he has no idea why Young went along with it this far if that's what he thinks this is. 

“You were right not to listen to me,” he says, and he feels a hint of irritation at Young making him admit it. It doesn't manage to grow into anything more heated, though, because the sight of Young, near-naked and wary and still stiff as a board, softens something in his chest. 

Young doesn't say anything. 

“What we do here does not influence what we do out there, does it?” Rush asks. 

Young's frown deepens, and he looks like he wants to avert his gaze. “Doesn't it? The timing seems kind of suspicious.” 

“This and that are only related insofar as I could tell that you wanted this, after what happened on the bridge,” he says lowly, bending closer to Young's ear. He sees a small shiver run through Young. “Unless I'm mistaken?” 

Young lets out a shaky breath, and Rush is so, so tempted to reach out and flick one of his nipples, or to dip his hand inside Young's underwear and wrap his fingers around that thick, hard length. Young's entire body seems to be made for touch, especially the way he looks right now – tense and still and deeply aroused. It takes a considerable amount of self-control not to give in to the temptation. 

“Am I mistaken, Colonel?” he asks, in a tone that doesn't allow for disobedience. 

“No,” Young admits, and this time he does look away, to the side, to avoid Rush's gaze. 

“Then take off your pants. Now.” 

He can tell it's a struggle for Young, the way his fingers hesitate at the edge of his waistband, the way his neck flushes. The way he refuses to make eye contact once he's finally stepped out of his boxers. Young's shoulders are straight, his rigid posture belying his apprehension except for the way his head is bent forward, gaze angled at the floor. 

Rush takes his time appreciating Young's naked form, circling around him as his eyes trace freckles and hairs and the odd scar here and there. Young's cock juts out starkly from its nest of dark curls, and Rush feels an exhilarating thrill at the thought that all of this, all of _Young_ , is completely at his fingertips right now. 

After a minute or two, Young looks up at him, face stoic and unreadable. “What?” 

Rush raises an eyebrow in question. “Hm?” 

Young frowns and swallows, and presses his lips together. He doesn't answer. 

Rush suppresses a smile, because he's reasonably certain Young is either asking him what he thinks about his body – which is somewhat precious – or he's asking Rush to touch him already. 

“Move over there,” Rush says, pointing at Young's little shaving corner. 

Young gives him a short look, and does as he's told. Rush gets the impression the tension in his shoulders unfurls a bit, now that he has an order to follow. 

“Hands on the table.” 

Rush can practically _hear_ the internal debate that plays out in Young's head as he eyes the small cabinet he uses as his shaving table with a mixture of longing and trepidation. Rush holds his breath as Young decides whether he's going to go along with this or whether he's going to put a stop to it completely, and releases it quietly when Young swallows audibly and bends forward to lean his hands on the table. His face is inches away from the mirror, and Rush watches his reflection from over Young's shoulder. 

Young is looking down again, refusing to acknowledge his own reflection, and Rush takes a moment to appreciate how beautiful Young looks right now, head bent and shoulders bowed. He looks uncharacteristically vulnerable like this. Completely naked, back arched slightly by the position Rush has him standing in. 

“I'm not going to touch you until you ask me,” he says from behind Young, and Young's eyes fly up to the mirror to find his face in the reflection. 

“What?” 

“You heard me. If you want something, you'll have to ask for it, Colonel.” 

God, it's fucking addictive, seeing Young struggle between swallowing his pride or forfeiting what he really wants, and Rush has to exert some effort to keep his own face expressionless as Young's eyes plead with him silently. 

Eventually, Young lets out a shuddering breath as he casts his eyes downward again. “I want you to touch me.” 

Rush feels the corner of his lips twitch upwards. It's not a question. 

“Try again.” 

Young's shoulders bow a little bit lower, and in the reflection of the mirror Rush can see him squeezing his eyes shut. “Please touch me.” 

“That's not very specific,” Rush says, keeping his own hands clasped together behind his back. 

“For fuck's sake, Rush! Would you touch my dick already?” Young bites out. 

Rush smirks and steps up next to Young. 

“There you go,” he purrs into Young's ear as he lets his index finger trail from the base of Young's cock to the tip, and then pulls away again. Young lets out a frustrated little sound that makes Rush's balls twitch. 

“From now on, you only get to ask me to touch any body part once, Colonel. So choose wisely.” 

“Jesus,” Young breathes. He's quiet for a few moments, and when he speaks again his voice is rough and a little ragged. “Please touch my shoulders.” 

Rush hums his approval and steps behind Young again. He puts his hands on the top of Young's shoulders, near his neck, and squeezes gently, massaging the knotted up muscles until Young is groaning underneath his hands. He lets his hands work from the back of Young's neck to the bottom edge of his shoulder blades, and then stills his movements. 

“My back, please,” Young says, and Rush lets his hands run down the rest of Young's back. He traces the column of his spine lightly with his knuckle, and leans forward to press nipping kisses underneath Young's shoulder blades as he massages Young's flanks with possessive ease. Young makes a small sound and lets his head fall forward. 

“You like that, do you?” Rush asks, skimming his fingers over Young's sides with the slightest scrape of fingernails. 

“Yeah,” Young answers. 

Rush lets his hands still on Young's hips, gripping him firmly. Fuck, his own cock jerks dangerously at the images the position conjures in his mind. He's going to fuck Young tonight, and Christ if that thought doesn't make him harder than he can remember being in ages. 

“Where next?” 

Young moans something unintelligible, and then speaks up. “My chest.” Rush feels himself smirk, and refuses to move his hands. Young wavers, a shiver works its way down his spine, and then he croaks out, “Please.” 

“Yes,” Rush murmurs, draping himself over Young's back and curling his arms around him. He lets his hands roam over the expanse of his chest, just feeling Young's skin, and the dusting of hair, and his peaked nipples. He'd never expected anything like this with Young, but it's good, he thinks, as he lets his cheek rest against Young's shoulder. 

Young lets out a breathy sound, and Rush isn't certain whether it's a response to the way he pinches Young's nipple none too gently or to the way he presses his clothed erection into Young's naked arse, but it's fucking marvelous. 

“Rush,” Young husks, and Rush can't see his face right now, but he has a feeling that it's strained and flushed and goddamn beautiful. “Please kiss me.” 

Rush smiles against the skin of Young's shoulder, and places a light peck on it. Young shudders and makes a noise that seems both plaintive and resigned, and Rush feels his smile widen. He never in a million years could have predicted he'd ever look at Young and see anything cute about the man, but right now there's no denying he's feeling downright endeared by him. His reactions, the sounds he makes, the pliancy of his body... it's delightful.

He moves back a little, taking his hands off Young's chest, and steps around to Young's side. Young is actually trembling a bit, and the need in his eyes makes something lurch hard in Rush's stomach. 

“C'mere,” he says, before tilting Young's chin toward him and capturing his mouth in a real kiss. The angle is slightly awkward, but that only makes it better. Young kisses back sloppily, wanton and messy, and he doesn't stop moaning. Fuck, he's never had Young this desperate before, and his balls throb almost painfully with how hot that makes him feel. As good as this is, if he stretches it out much longer there's a chance he'll come before he ever gets to fuck Young. Before he ever gets to give him what he wants. 

Christ, next time, he's definitely jerking off before doing this. 

He breaks the kiss and lets go of Young's face, and he relishes how lost Young looks immediately after. 

“You haven't asked me to touch you here, yet,” he says as he cups his hand over the crack of Young's arse slowly. “Don't you want me to?” 

Young moans and lets his head drop between his shoulders again. “Yes. I want...” he pants. “Please put your fingers inside me.”

Jesus fucking _Christ_. 

With some difficulty, Rush steps away to grab the bottle of lube from Young's nightstand. He feels Young's eyes tracking him across the room, and it really brings home how he's still entirely dressed while Young is stripped completely bare. Rush's cock strains insistently against the confines of his pants as he stands beside Young again and takes in his naked, nearly prostrated form. God, he still can't believe that Young is letting him do this. Young is giving him all this power. It's dizzying. 

He thinks about saying something, but then decides against it and simply coats his fingers in lube. By now, Young is looking tense, stiff and a little wary, and Rush strokes over his puckered entrance a few times before slowly pushing one finger inside. 

Young makes a sound and then bites it off quickly. Rush thinks it's one of the hottest things he's ever heard. He settles his left hand over the curve of Young's shoulder and lets his thumb sweep over the skin there as he works his finger slowly inside of him. 

“You want more?” he asks, and deep down he wonders how much further he can push Young before... he's not sure what might happen if he pushes Young too far. 

Young is quiet for a few seconds, and Rush continues to work his finger in and out of him gently, never pushing in too deep or too far down. Not yet. 

“ _Please_ ,” Young groans quietly, and Jesus, yeah, Young is fucking... he's fucking _amazing_. 

Rush pushes in a second finger, and Young's muffled moan makes his grip on Young's shoulder tighten firmly. He slides in and out of Young a few times before scissoring his fingers to open Young up a bit further. 

“Do you like this? Having my fingers inside of you?” 

He watches Young in the mirror, sees him close his eyes slowly as he bites his lip. “...Yeah.” 

“Yeah, what?” Rush asks, because he's not about to let Young get away with just that. 

“Mmng,” Young says, keeping his lips pressed firmly together. Then he lets his head fall forward in defeat. “I like having you inside of me.” 

Rush smiles and lets his fingers curl downwards to rub against Young's prostate, and Young lets out a low, rumbling groan. He looks up into the mirror to catch Rush's gaze. 

“Fuck, Rush,” he breathes. “This... yeah.” 

Rush feels his lips twitch up at that, and starts driving his fingers into Young at a steady pace, pressing against his prostate on every downstroke. 

“What do you think I'm doing here, Colonel?” 

Again, it looks like Young struggles to find an answer, but he fights through it and grunts, “Getting me ready.” 

“Ready for what?” 

“To—oh _Jesus_! ...To fuck me.” 

Yes, that's it. That's nice. Young arches his back a little and lets out a thready moan that makes something coil tight in Rush's stomach. The reflection of Young's face is a sight to behold – his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth slightly ajar, his entire expression a perfect picture of desire. Rush increases his pace and watches Young nearly fall apart, and then he pulls his fingers out. 

“Oh my God, you can't... That wasn't—” Young's breath hitches and he sucks in a deep lungful of air. “Fuck, _fuck_ , Rush. Please touch my cock.” 

“Hm,” Rush hums pensively. “No.” 

“What?” Young asks, eyes springing open and staring at the tabletop unseeingly. He seems completely befuddled by the idea that Rush can stop this game whenever he pleases. 

“You don't get to choose anymore,” Rush says, lifting Young's head with two fingers underneath his chin. “You are not the one in control here. Do you understand?” 

Young swallows thickly, Rush can feel it under his fingertips. When he speaks, his voice shakes a bit. “...Yes.” 

“Good. Do not look away from the mirror.” 

Young makes a desperate little sound that could mean a protest or a sign of surrender, and Rush keeps his eyes on Young's reflection as he slips two fingers back inside him. Young attempts to keep a straight face, holding Rush's gaze, and Rush can't help but feel amused by how hard Young is trying to keep himself from fully letting go. This... this whole thing, Rush enjoys it, certainly, but this is not for him. _Young_ is the one who wanted this. _Young_ is the one who needs it. So the fact that he's fighting to hold on to a semblance of control even now is utterly contradictory. It is also oddly darling, somehow. 

Of course he is going to push Young a little bit farther. 

Rush pulls his fingers out and coats them with more lube. 

“Look at your own face,” he orders. He waits for Young's eyes to flick to his own reflection before he pushes three fingers inside of him, and revels in the strained little noise Young makes as he tries not to shut his eyes against the image of his own expression. 

_Yes_ , Rush thinks. _Not so easy to keep a straight face now, is it?_

“You should see what I'm seeing,” he husks as he spreads his fingers to stretch Young open wider. Young takes a short, hitched breath, and Rush smiles to himself. “You're very tight. Never had anyone touch you like this, did you?” 

He watches Young in the mirror, still looking at himself and blinking his eyes closed for a second before snapping them back open again. 

“No,” Young groans, like it physically pains him to admit it. 

“That's good. That means _this_ —” Rush pushes his fingers in hard and deep, pressing down on Young's prostate firmly. “—is all mine.” 

“Fuck,” Young curses through gritted teeth. It looks like he has to exert a substantial amount of effort to keep his eyes on his own reflection, and Rush pumps his fingers in calmly a few times. Young is really doing this, he's really trying his utmost to comply with Rush's demands, and the feeling of power that it gives him is almost as strong as the sense of wonder it inspires. God, Young is fascinating. 

“Doesn't it?” he asks, lips brushing against the shell of Young's ear. 

“Wha...?” Young asks, and he sounds completely out of it, almost delirious. 

“Whose is this?” Rush asks as he curls his fingers into Young's prostate again. 

It is beautiful, Young's face as he gives in and watches himself whisper, “Yours. It's yours.” 

“Yes,” Rush murmurs, before biting softly into Young's earlobe. “You're _mine_.” 

Young's eyes flutter closed as his breath rushes out of him in a shaky sigh, and his muscles clench tightly around Rush's fingers. Christ, he loves Young's reactions. He doesn't think he'll ever get bored of them. 

He lets go of Young's shoulder and reaches his free hand out to touch the underside of Young's erection. A fierce stab of pride shoots up his belly as he feels how slippery even the base of Young's cock is. Fuck, Young is _leaking_ , his precome is dribbling down over his balls, and this is for Rush, all of it. 

He pulls his fingers out and doesn't miss the soft whimper that escapes Young's mouth. 

“I think I'm going to tie you to the bed and fuck you into the mattress. See if I can make you scream,” he ponders out loud. “Or perhaps I'll just take you right here where you stand. Let you watch your own face in the mirror as I ravage your virgin arse,” he says those last two words directly into Young's ear as he lets two fingers run slickly across Young's entrance. “What do you think?” 

“I...” Young heaves in a shuddering breath, and tries again. “I don't...” 

Rush smiles and kisses the corner of Young's jaw with the sudden surge of affection he feels for the man. 

“It's alright, Colonel,” he says, dipping his fingers inside Young shallowly, casually establishing once again that this part of Young is _his_. “You don't get a say.” 

Young trembles, and moans deeply, and all of a sudden every last bit of tension seems to drain out of him.

“Rush,” he breathes, and oh, that's nice. It sounds like more than a plea. It sounds almost reverent, and fuck, Rush could probably do anything he wanted to Young right now, and Young would let him. 

It opens up a whole world of possibilities. He could... They could... Fuck, _everything_. They could do everything. 

In the end, though, it's the sight of Young – still looking at his own reflection, eyes glossy and dazed – that decides for him. 

Rush's heart stutters at the thought that Young must actually trust him. Perhaps not with everything, but with _this_. And it must be a deep trust, at that. Young's body radiates supplication, and Rush strokes his fingers into Young's hair, massaging his scalp like he's petting a good dog. The thought makes him a smile a bit. 

Different scenarios flash before his eyes as he steps behind Young and leans forward to bite a sucking kiss into the meat of his shoulder, but he already knows what he's going to do next. 

“Keep your eyes on yourself,” he tells Young again. 

Young doesn't answer him, but he keeps gazing hazily into his own eyes, and Rush works open his belt and trousers before taking out his straining prick and slicking a good load of lube over it. 

“What do you want, Colonel?” he asks, voice rough with desire as he spreads Young's cheeks a little and presses the head of his cock up against his opening. 

Young takes a shaky breath, and Rush avidly watches his reflection in the mirror. “Anything,” he says, blinking slowly. “Anything you want.” 

And Jesus, that was not what Rush expected. He'd intended for Young to ask him to fuck him, but this... Christ, this is even better. 

“I want _you_ ,” he growls, and then he starts pushing inside of Young, into that tight heat, and _Jesus_. Young is stretching around him, taking him all in, and he lets out a high, breathy sound that spurs Rush on and makes it damn near impossible to keep his movements slow and careful. Rush grips Young's hips harder and forces himself to keep his pace steady and unhurried until he's all the way inside. And then he's there, he's in, and God, he's _inside_ Young. 

Rush flicks his eyes over to the mirror, and his breath stutters in his chest at the expression on Young's face. He looks _ruined_. His eyes are still on himself, but his stare is glassy, mouth open and eyebrows contorted in a mixture of bliss and surprise. Fuck, he looks altogether devastated, and Rush has to look away before the sight of Young overwhelms him. 

“God, you feel good,” he groans, pulling back out until only his tip is still inside Young and then thrusting back in. 

“Hng,” Young says, and Rush wants... Christ, he wants _Young_. He wants to fuck him and own him and make it so that Young won't ever think about anyone else again. 

He drapes himself over Young's back, licking away some of the sweat that has beaded up, glistening on Young's spine, and sets up a hard rhythm. 

Every time he drives inside Young lets out a little noise, and every single one of them pushes Rush closer to the brink. Young's arse is snug and hot around his cock, and God, he never wants it to end but he also wants to come so fucking bad. 

One of his hands inches forward, over Young's abdomen and up his chest, until it's resting loosely around Young's throat – not squeezing, just holding. He can feel Young's heartbeat hammering under his fingertips, and Young... fuck, Young's breath hitches and he makes a sound that almost causes Rush to lose it right then. 

This is trust, this is Young trusting him, and it's gorgeous and mind-blowing and Rush wants more of it. He doesn't think he'll ever get enough. 

“Young,” he grunts, working frantically inside of him. He's not touching Young's cock, and he's not even hitting Young's prostate, not at this angle, but still Young sounds like he's getting closer to climax with every thrust until he hits a ceiling, desperate and high and almost keening with it. When Rush looks over Young's shoulder at his reflection, there's no question in his mind that Young is waiting for his permission, and Jesus, fuck, that shouldn't... that can't work, it might not even be physically possible, but Rush can't look at that face and not try. 

“Colonel, let go,” he orders, ignoring how unsteady his own voice sounds as he keeps fucking into Young unrelentingly. “Come for me. Now.” 

And Young _does_. 

His entire body stiffens, and Rush sees Young's eyes water in the mirror as his voice chokes out a sound that is somewhere between a moan and a cry, and then everything turns to spasming, clenching heat around him. It's amazing, having Young underneath him, strong and willing and giving himself over completely, and fuck, _fuck_ , Rush can't hold back anymore. He buries his face in Young's neck and drives in erratically until he's coming too, emptying himself in Young as his hands clamp down hard around Young's hip and his throat for a second or two. Everything erupts into overly saturated colors as his nerve endings seem to contract and expand with how fucking good it feels, and Young's skin is warm and damp against his lips as a rumbling moan is dragged out of him. 

“Jesus,” he pants afterwards, circling his hands around Young's chest and hugging him even closer. “You're bloody incredible.” 

Young hums a quiet sound, and when Rush calms down enough to gently pull out and look over Young's shoulder again, he sees Young is still staring at his own reflection. 

“You can look away now, Colonel,” Rush says softly, reaching up to touch Young's cheek. “Come on, up you go.” 

Young lets himself be led away from the shaving table meekly, and when Rush flips open the covers and tells him to get in, he does so without question. Rush leaves him there as he quickly strips off his own clothes and wets a towel, and when he starts cleaning the sweat and come off Young the man looks up at him with such openness that Rush can't help the flow of all-encompassing fondness that threatens to overtake him. 

“You're okay,” he says softly, bending down to kiss Young lightly on the lips. “You did well.” 

When he's finished, when they're both at least somewhat dry and clean again, he settles down into bed next to Young and pulls the covers over them both. Young still seems kind of out of it, looking sleepy and sated and altogether vulnerable. Rush isn't entirely sure what this is, what happened for Young to be like this, but it makes him feel protective and... and like he'd do anything to make sure Young is alright. 

The sentiment might have worried him more if he wasn't feeling so spent and mellow right now. 

He moves closer to kiss Young again. Young yields to him beautifully, letting him lick gently into his mouth without any resistance at all, and Rush takes his time mapping out every last bit of soft flesh and every hard ridge of teeth. When he finally breaks away, Young's eyes stay closed for a few seconds, and then he gazes at Rush like he's the whole world, and God, who would've thought the Colonel could _look_ like that? 

“Do you need anything?” he asks quietly, tracing the curve of Young's jaw with his fingers. 

Young blinks slowly and gives him the smallest smile. After nearly a minute, he speaks. “Just you. Here.” 

Rush finds himself smiling in return. “Alright,” he says, like there was ever a possibility he wasn't going to stay here with Young. “You can sleep now, Colonel. I'm not going anywhere.” 

Young hums softly and closes his eyes. His breathing evens out almost immediately, and Rush lays his head down on Young's shoulder and curls his body closer around him. The feeling of naked skin against his own makes something ache in his chest, and he has to swallow hard against the sudden lump in his throat. As he quickly blinks away the slight dampness in his eyes, he realizes he didn't think he'd ever have this again. This human warmth. This feeling of being trusted.

Fuck, he'd never expected it could be anything like this with Young, but it is. And it's ridiculously good. He loves that Young allows him to take care of him like this. It's... it makes everything so much easier, so much different from what they'd known of each other before this whole thing started. Young trusts him with this, fully, it seems, and Rush is determined to demonstrate that he's worthy of that trust. 

Tomorrow, they'll be back to normal. Young will be the ship's commanding officer who prioritizes the lives of his crew, and Rush will be the chief scientist who prioritizes the quest for knowledge. They'll probably oppose each other again, soon enough. But at least now they have this, too, when they need it. They have each other. 

Rush presses a soft kiss into the skin of Young's chest. This already feels dangerously close to being in love, but for some reason the thought doesn't frighten him much at all. Young trusts him with his body, with his mind. Rush can trust Young with his heart, in return. 

His fingers are still tracing idly over the delicate skin of Young's throat when he drifts off to sleep himself.


End file.
